


i wanna be felled by you

by JoanofArc



Series: darejones [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, because we all need some soft darejones christmas fluff, jess is learning to accept softness, matt is a soft boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoanofArc/pseuds/JoanofArc
Summary: jessica jones doesn't like christmas. matt disagrees. or, the one where nothing hurts and the kids are alright.





	i wanna be felled by you

jessica jones does not like winter. or snow, for the matter. windows shut tight and fogged up make private investigator work that much harder, and she usually can't just perch on a rooftop and snap away at a cheating wife or a scumbag's basement drug dealing operation. she has to get inventive, to tail the people she's been paid to catch in the act, be smart about it. in the cold. it's more effort than it's worth it, especially since her last client had to be evicted through the glass pane of her door. _again._

but what she hates the most, is christmas. it must have something to do with the fact that, after her parents died, christmas with the walkers was always superfluous and feeling like a mouthful of plastic. it used to be a happy affair - with phil running around in his raindeer onesie and mom and dad helping them put on the tree. but everything dorothy ever did was perfunctory, so she could preen in front of the cameras and act like having adopted jessica wasn't the worst thing she had ever done. trish was usually too high to care either. 

matt thrives on it, for some reason. he likes the quiet buzz of happiness the city falls into, like chrismas is the only time of the year when hell's kitchen actually takes a break from all the horrors that come out at night. and he's been hyped for weeks. lighting up whenever they're walking down the street and he hears christmas music, or when the old lady at the bakery they frequent almost daily wishes them happy holidays.

their first christmas together, he says, when he's a little buzzed on whiskey and holding her on his ugly couch, has to be _special._  

he's happy in a way she's never seen him be, and she should be happy too, she _should,_ but she can't help the way it makes her feel a little bittersweet. because while his happiness is contagious, this time of the year had always been a reminder of what she lost. of what she could never get back. 

"we don't have to do this," matt says, like it wouldn't crush him if she decided that no, they're not doing the tree and decorating and the whole nine yards. like he hadn't been excited about it ever since halloween passed and they decided to kiss behind the hideous carved pumpkin stand in danny's meeting room, which had subsequently become the defenders' meeting room or whatever they're called.

something in her chest clenches, because she realises that he would give it all up, for her. it's still weird to think that someone cares so much, but that's saint matthew for you. reading her moods like they're written in braille, always careful to push but not to the point where it breaks her. 

"no, it's fine. we're doing it." there is something finite in her tone, because he reaches over for her hand and squeezes, once, the touch there and then gone. she misses it as soon as it's over, but she swallows it back, crushes the feeling under her boot until it's small and rubbery.

so they do. they lock her office together, because the cardboard serving as placeholder for her door isn't doing anything to keep the cool air out, and they put on little strings of light in his apartment to compete with the hideous neon light coming from the large windows. not that he sees any of that, but he gets this goofy grin on his face whenever he gets home and smells the cinnamon candles colleen had given jessica, and she is in no position to deny him anything when he smiles like that.

the asshole knows. maybe it's the way her heart skips a beat when it's directed at her, or how easily she gives in to whatever antics make him happy, but they end up with a big tree in the middle of the living room and ugly snowflake decals on the windows.

and truth is, she likes it. likes the way the dim lights play on his skin when they're sitting together on the couch, laptop perched on one thigh and his head nestled on the order, her fingers in his hair. she even likes the ridiculous hot chocolate he makes from scratch, with actual real cocoa and too much whipped cream. it feels... _cozy._  warm, without making her feel like she's trapped in a holiday calendar. she draws the line at gingerbread houses tho.

"what do you want for christmas?" matt asks, on one of these quiet evenings. outside, it has started to snow, the flurry of snowflakes coating the new york swill into a thin layer of white. she snorts at him, tugs on a hair strand a little harder, just to make him bite at her thigh.

"i'm not really one for presents." because presents usually meant expectations. a way to pacify her, or worse, guilt her into something.

("you're just leeching on me for money!" trish's voice, crystal clear in her head. it hurts. it still hurts.)

but matt is undeterred. he hums, low in the throat, turns his head to nuzzle at her hip.

"that's fair. but really, jess. think about it. it's not like... it's a binding contract, or something. we're just talking, yeah? so what do you want for christmas? surely, there's something. if you could get anything in the whole world."

jessica sighs, slams shut her laptop, because when he gets like this, she's not going to get any more work done. the little triumphant grin he sends her way is kinda worth it, even though she still wants to punch it off his face a little.

and she gives in, like she always does, because for some reason matt murdock has a way of convincing her to do things. because she feels warm and content right here, with him dishevelled across her lap, his sweat pants tucked in his socks because he's the biggest fucking dork she knows.

it gets her to think, because anything in the whole world is a big thing. when she was younger, maybe she would have wished for her parents and brother to come back. or, back when she was still naive enough to think it possible, for dorothy to really love her. but the first wish came true and culminated in a disaster, and the latter leaves a bitter taste on her tongue.

she could deflect. ignore his earnest face and earnest tone and say whiskey or something, but he'd see right through her in a heartbeat. she doesn't bother. instead, she tilts her head, brushed a finger down his jaw, feels the stubble catch on her skin.

"i don't know. i mean, i don't need anything, and if i want something, i just get it." then, because she feels too exposed, she raises an eyebrow at him, "what do _you_ want for christmas, counsellor?"

the expression on his face tells her he got her exactly where he wants her - that's another thing with matt. he never outright tells her to do something. he lays down the bread crumbs for her to follow and lets her sway herself. she only ever realises she's done it when it too late.

matt moves, shifts on the couch until he's sitting up, his fingers seeking out her face. she takes his hands and places then on her cheek, closes her eyes under his careful ministrations. if he can hear her heart speed up at the contact, with something which tastes like anticipation on her tongue, he makes no comment on it.

it still baffles her, how he touches her like she's deserving of affection. like she's not an actual damn mess, all sharp edges and thorns for him to cut himself on. like she's deserving of him.

 _"you,"_ he says, and jessica feels her breath catch in her throat. he brushes his thumbs across her closed eyes, the ghost of a touch, feeling the sudden moisture. "i don't need anything if you're here with me."

oh. **_oh._** the sap. the damn sap. she loves him and hates him for it. there is something hot in her chest, like a fire spreading through her whole body. she can't breathe for fear of just shattering. when was the last time someone touched her so reverently? with so much care? when was the last time someone saw her like good, like she's worth the effort? loving her is nothing if not difficult, but he does it effortlessly, like it's natural for him to do it. like he was made to love her.

but her reaction is too reminiscent of the peripheral edge of a panic attack, and he pulls back, concerned, his brows furrowing.

"jess? hey, i'm sorry if i overstepped -"

god, she loves him.

"shut up," she rasps out, catches his hands before they can fall down to his sides, presses them harder against her cheeks. "of corse you have to be the cheesiest person on earth, jesus. you fucking dork." 

her laugh is a little wet, a little shaky, but the smile he rewards her with could honestly light up this whole damn city. she wants to bottle it up, to save it for when her days are submerged in darkness and she can't fight her way out. but why would she do that when she has the real deal willing to pull her from under the surface, to guide her back ashore?

he tugs on her, and she goes into his arms willingly, feels the shape of his smile as he presses a kiss to her temple, then to her cheek, only to finally crash their lips together. it's soft, but it fits the moment, with the christmas carols playing softly in the background from one of his neighbour's kitchen, and the way he's holding her so gently, like she might shatter if he presses too hard.

"i mean it," he whispers against her mouth. what he doesn't say is i'm glad that you're here, that you're not running. i'm glad that i can hold you and kiss you, that you put up with me even when it's hard. that you trust me enough to let your guards down around me. 

what he doesn't say is i love you.

she hears it all anyway, in the tone of his voice, in the spaces between one breath and the other.

"i know you do. me too."

maybe she can't say the three little words, not with how they've been tainted purple, twisted into something grotesque. but she doesn't need to; not with how her heart is beating them in morse code under his palm.

and hey, maybe christmas wishes do come true. but for now, she's content to press closer to him and show him just how much she does. 


End file.
